


Thaw

by vix_spes



Category: Black Hawk Down (2001), Hannibal Extended Universe - Fandom, Polar (2019)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Assassination, Broken Boys, Crossing Timelines, Friendship, Getting Together, Hannibal Extended Universe, Injury Recovery, M/M, Post-Canon, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Retirement, Torture, oblivious boys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-27
Updated: 2019-04-12
Packaged: 2019-10-17 22:42:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,339
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17569316
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vix_spes/pseuds/vix_spes
Summary: Triple Oak, Montana may be the middle of nowhere, but it also may just be the place for two men to find a bit of peace.





	1. Chapter 1

 

He wasn’t entirely sure when the man had arrived, but one day he saw movement in the cabin across the lake. He could have been there a few days or a few months for all Duncan knew, but he hadn’t been there the last time Duncan was here. He was young, at least he looked it from a distance, and that was the strange thing. The thing that made Duncan suspicious. Young people didn’t usually choose Triple Oak, Montana as a place to live. It was fucking cold and there weren’t many jobs let alone other young people; hardly an enticing prospect. So, why was he here?

He could hardly be here for the same reason as Duncan, in search of a quiet retirement. That meant there had to be another reason for him being here and Duncan was going to discover that reason. He may be here for retirement, but it was hard to change the habits of a lifetime.

So, Duncan found his days taking on a vague shape; ignoring messages from Vivian, watching films from the machine in town, smoking too much, drinking too much and observing his new neighbour. Not that there was much to observe; the guy seemed to go out less than Duncan and that said a lot. He ran a few errands in a battered old jeep and, other than that, made a solitary appearance all wrapped up in a bulky jacket and beanie to make relatively short work of the woodpile. It made Duncan curious.

Curious enough that his mind kept wandering back to him, even throughout the job in Belarus. It didn’t stop him from fucking Evalina. He was a man with needs, and she fulfilled a purpose, both for his job and his libido. Neither did his curiosity about his neighbour stop him from doing his job. Nothing stopped him from doing that; it was why he was the Black Kaiser and retiring with eight million in the bank. Still, there was something about this man that intrigued Duncan and he needed to satisfy his curiosity before it made him do something stupid.

And then, finally, upon his return to Triple Oak he saw the neighbour up close in town. In the store while Duncan was looking at boxed cake mix of all things.

He’d been calling him a man but, up close, he looked like little more than a boy. Rather like a human puppy. And a kicked puppy at that. Duncan definitely didn’t think about Rusty at that point. He still felt guilty that he’d killed the damn thing. Fucking nightmares and flashbacks. At least he’d been a little more successful with the fish. So far. Then again, it was pretty bloody hard to kill a fish.

They didn’t speak. Given how much the cashier was talking, nobody was going to get a word in but, even if Duncan had wanted to say something, his mysterious neighbour was gone before he had the chance. A little jumpy. Jumpy enough that he knocked over a stand by the cash desk a couple of times. It almost made Duncan want to laugh, but he restrained himself.

He saw the man-puppy again the following day. And really, he was going to need a better name for him than that. Duncan had gone to exchange videos when he’d seen his neighbour sat in the window of the diner and his curiosity had been piqued even more than previously. This time, he had the opportunity to watch unobserved.

He looked young but Duncan had the feeling that he was older than he appeared. Even so, he was a good ten to fifteen years younger than Duncan. What was surprising was the expression in his eyes. He was pretty, undeniably so. Not wearing his glasses, Duncan couldn’t make out details, but there was no mistaking the full, almost pouty lips. And the ears that stuck out rather adorably from behind the beanie that he wore. Yet, it was the look in his eyes that caught Duncan’s attention. While the boy/man/whatever he was was pretty enough, there was no doubting that there was something in his eyes. A look that could only be described as haunted. Someone like him shouldn’t look like that. He should be smiling and laughing not looking almost traumatised.

Unfortunately for Duncan, even the new bit of information didn’t satisfy his curiosity. He needed to know more.

He found it when he made what was becoming a regular visit to the diner. They did a mean pie and he’d always been a fan of pie. He was maybe going to have to take up jogging or something if he continued to eat so much of it. And then the waitress earned herself a generous tip by introducing Duncan’s neighbour as he took the seat next to Duncan at the counter.

Kurt.

Not the name that he’d been expecting but it suited him.

“It’s funny we’re neighbours.”

“Yes. That is funny. You live in the house with the big porch. I live in the grey cabin. Just across the lake.” Oh god, this was why Duncan was a hitman. He was shit at small talk. Maybe retirement was a bad idea. Surely he could set up freelance or something? Maybe he should just leave now and save Kurt from this painful experience.

“So funny. I like it here.”

Then again, Kurt seemed just as bad at it as Duncan. That made him feel a bit better. Although, that didn’t help the curiosity. Why was Kurt bad at small talk? Surely, with his looks, he was popular with men and women alike.

“Me too.” Maybe not. God, this was painful. Duncan stuffed another forkful of pie in his mouth so that he could lie to himself that he wasn’t talking because he was eating. As he ate, he kept glancing at Kurt out of the corner of his eye.

Up close, he wasn’t as young as Duncan had thought. Maybe mid-thirties? Smooth-faced but with a pretty angular jaw and a short haircut under the beanie, almost military short. He was incontestably pretty. Duncan had fucked pretty boys like him a few times over the years and he wouldn’t say no to this one either. The ears would be perfect leverage to direct those lips over his cock.

“It’s peaceful. It makes me peaceful.”

Duncan coughed awkwardly, feeling a little guilty for thinking about fucking Kurt’s mouth while he talked about how peaceful it was here. “Me too.”

And then the peace was ruined as some guy slammed his paper down on the counter and interrupted them. Kurt jumped and spilled his coffee over the counter. It was a perfectly ordinary reaction when someone was startled but there was something more to it. Duncan could hear the way that Kurt’s breathing raced, saw how his hands shook as he attempted to help the waitress clean up. That wasn’t a normal reaction. In addition, there had been the aborted movement that Duncan had caught out of the corner of his eye. The way that Kurt’s arm had gone towards his hip before he had stopped himself. His hip. The same place that you would keep a gun.

Why would Kurt automatically reach for a weapon? The young man was quite the enigma and one that Duncan was determined to solve. Although why he was so set on doing so, he still wasn’t quite sure.

(~*~)

The diner had become their place. Coffee and pie for Duncan, the strange alcoholic coffee combination for Kurt. He was starting to become fond of the guy, his curiosity still unabated. The conversation was still awkward, but Duncan got to stare at Kurt with his pretty sea-change eyes and perfect cock-sucking lips while he ate pie, so it wasn’t all bad. His right hand was getting one hell of a work-out in the evenings, that was for sure. Retirement was already going better than he had expected.

It was during one of these meetings that he managed to find out more about Kurt.

“You’re not from around here, are you?”

“I’m not working anymore. I’m retired.” Finally. Officially.

“What was your job?”

Well, this wasn’t a question that he hadn’t expected to have to answer. What answer could he give that was socially acceptable? “I was in the funeral business.” That would work, wouldn’t it?

“So was I. Of sorts. Where were you?”

The funeral business ‘of sorts’? What the fuck was that supposed to mean? How were you in the funeral business of sorts? Did Kurt know what Duncan mean by funeral business? “Different places. Mostly overseas.”

“Me too. Never get to see much of the places I visited though. You should give a class at the school. Would you do it?”

A class at the school? Seriously? Did Duncan look like the kind of guy who gave classes at the local school? “No.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t know how to talk to kids.” Duncan couldn’t help but think of Evalina’s son, how he had seen Duncan fuck his mother and then seen the aftermath of one of Duncan’s jobs. He didn’t know how to deal with kids full stop, not just talk to them.

“Neither do I. I survived my talk.”

The self-deprecating chuckle was kind of adorable, Duncan acknowledged with a sinking feeling, as was the way that Kurt ducked his head and looked up. Jesus fucking Christ, how long were those eyelashes?

Oh fuck, he was going to give a talk to children, wasn’t he?


	2. Chapter 2

Duncan had always prided himself on the fact that he had never allowed himself to be swayed by a pretty face. At least not much and never enough to prevent him from doing his job. The ones that did let themselves get swayed? Well, they got killed and were the reason that Duncan was the Black Kaiser, the best, and retiring with eight million in the bank. He wasn’t going to change the habits of a lifetime just because he was retired and Kurt had one of the prettiest faces that he’d ever seen, prettier than some women either. It helped his resolve that he hadn’t seen Kurt for a couple of days.

While that helped Duncan’s resolve at not talking at the school, it didn’t help his nerves. Why hadn’t he seen Kurt for a couple of days? Kurt had even missed one of their unofficial but regular dates at the diner. Strange how the pie hadn’t tasted quite as good as usual that day. The only thing that had prevented Duncan from initiating a full-scale investigation was the fact that he had seen Kurt pottering about on his porch, had seen the lights on in an evening. Not that he’d been watching like a stalker, it was just hard to break the habits of a lifetime.

He had been in town exchanging his old video for new one when he had been cornered by the school teacher. He vaguely listened as she blathered on about how they liked to have guest teachers at the school and how they encouraged diversity in the people that spoke. And then, of course, she mentioned Kurt and how enthralled the children had been listening to him speak and Duncan cursed himself for being pathetic as he paid more attention. Seriously, if anyone found out about this, he’d never hear the end of it. Vivian would certainly never let him forget it if she knew. Still, this was his chance. The teacher was definitely not his type; it should be easy to say that he was sorry, he’d changed his mind and wouldn’t be able to give a talk after all.

Except, of course, that was too simple.

Just as Duncan was about to say no and give his reasons, he looked up and saw Kurt up close for the first time in days. He was so relieved that he found he was speaking without really being aware of what he was saying and when his brain finally caught up, it was to hear the teacher saying wonderful and that he should report to the school reception at eleven am on Thursday morning.

Oh fuck, he really was going to have to talk to children.

~*~

The relief at Kurt’s return distracted Duncan temporarily but, before he knew it, it was Wednesday night and in twelve hours he had to talk to a class of children. There was absolutely nothing in his life that he could talk about that was child-friendly. Except the fish and he wasn’t giving a talk about fish. In the end, he decided to hell with it. He was simply going to talk about his life and what he did while still being as vague as possible. He could even turn it into an endurance test of sorts for the teacher, see how long he could talk for before she called it off or had a heart attack, whichever came first.

And that was how he found himself stood in front of a class of seven-year olds – eight-year olds? How were you supposed to know how old they were? – with a ‘My name is Duncan’ badge stuck to his polo neck.

All in all, he felt as though it all went rather well. The children had loved it – or seemed to – and had been keen to volunteer when he asked for help demonstrating the Kukri knife. He had been so sure that that would be the teachers breaking point, but she had simply sat there while he had demonstrated, the lethal edge of the blade mere millimetres from the neck of one of her charges. Nerves of steel that one, more mettle than some of the so-called agents operating for Damocles. She hadn’t even batted an eyelid when he passed the knife around. So, of course, Duncan had to push further. Just to see if he could get a reaction.

“Who knows what a dead body looks like when it’s been left in the sun for three weeks?”

Nothing.

The children asked interesting questions though. How do they bury people in India, what kind of clothes do they wear in Africa? They also asked some stupid ones. Do they eat turkey in Turkey, and do they speak American in England? Those kids were going nowhere. He was pleased with the answers he gave. Even so, he was relieved when it was over, and he could leave. Doubly so when he was both handed a bagged lunch and spotted a familiar figure sat outside on the swings waiting for him. At least he hoped Kurt was waiting for him.

“How did it go?”

Duncan lowered himself onto the other swing. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been on one. That was if he ever had. “Pretty good, I think. They liked the knife.”

Kurt swung back and forth a little bit. “Oh. It was a pretty cool knife.”

Duncan latched onto that with both hands. There was something slightly off in the cadence of Kurt’s voice, but it wasn’t enough to cause Duncan too much concern. What if he got Kurt a present? Everybody liked presents, didn’t they? Given that his attempts at small talk were painful, he wasn’t exactly going to attempt flirting. He wasn’t even sure that he knew how to flirt. He couldn’t remember doing it in the last few years; he simply opted for paying people if he wanted sex. That was hardly going to work on Kurt so maybe a present would. It would show his interest at least. The question was, what to get him as a present…

(~*~)

Two days later, Duncan walked around the lake to Kurt’s house, a somewhat clumsily wrapped parcel in his hands. Given that he could shoot someone between the eyes from three hundred feet without an issue and strip and reassemble an assault rifle in a matter of seconds, he had found wrapping a present remarkably difficult. It wasn’t the most aesthetically pleasing of things but wasn’t it supposed to be the thought that counted. He had made a four-hour round-trip to an establishment of high-quality weaponry, spending half as much time again selecting something that he thought was both suitable and that Kurt would like.

Of course, he was his awkward self when it came to presenting Kurt with the gift. Kurt had been stood on his porch, wearing the beanie that mostly hid the ears that starred in a number of Duncan’s lewder fantasies which had thus proceeded to distract Duncan, so he did nothing more than thrust the gift up at Kurt over the rail of the porch.

“I bought you something. You told me how much you like knives, so I thought…” He faltered when Kurt didn’t seem overly enthusiastic as he opened the box and revealed the gun that Duncan had spent so long choosing. “It comes in black if you prefer.”

“I … I don’t know how to shoot.”

There was something strange about the cadence of Kurt’s voice. Again. It nagged at Duncan, but he wasn’t exactly sure what to do about it. With few other choices, he opted for blasé confidence.

“That’s okay. I’m a teacher now, remember.”

~*~

When the day that Duncan was due to teach Kurt how to use his present arrived, Duncan was awake with the dawn. Were there any items in his wardrobe bar black polo necks and black trousers, he probably would have tried all of them on before deciding on the first thing he had worn. It was ridiculous. He was retired; wasn’t this the kind of thing that teenagers did? At least he wouldn’t have performance issues with the gun.

He couldn’t help but show off a bit when they met in the pre-agreed clearing, stripping and reassembling the gun in a matter of seconds before he placed it in Kurt’s hands.

“It’s loaded, all yours.”

Duncan took the opportunity to stand close behind Kurt – for educational purposes of course, not out of trying to be creepy. He had to resist the urge to take an audible inhale of Kurt’s scent, fresh and unimpeded of anything artificial. As close as he was, Duncan could also see the way that Kurt trembled like a nervous animal. It was strange though, because the way that he handled the gun almost spoke of familiarity. To all intents and purposes, it looked as though he had handled a gun before and multiple times. But that didn’t account for the tremors the wracked his body. It could be nothing more than nerves and, to that end, Duncan spoke calmly and quietly.

“Squeeze the trigger, nice and easy. Two hands.”

Kurt’s form was perfect and spoke of his familiarity at holding a gun. For a brief moment, Duncan remembered when he had been startled in the diner, how his hand had gone to his hip, as if reaching for a weapon. Duncan’s mind started processing all of the potential careers that Kurt could have had; soldier, assassin, cop. And then he told himself that he was being ridiculous. He couldn’t imagine Kurt doing any of those things. Besides, this was America. Everyone and their mum had fired a gun at some point. And then Kurt fired the gun and his hands were wavering so badly that he totally missed the cans that Duncan had set out. Yeah, there was no way that Kurt’s former job – whatever it was – had involved guns.

“It’s okay. We’ll get you something else. I still have the receipt.”

Duncan did his best to be reassuring as Kurt handed the gun back to him, but Kurt was stiff, unyielding.

“I need a drink.”

Duncan hovered as Kurt turned and headed back towards his house, shoulders slumped and as he moved through the snow. Was he supposed to follow? Go home? Had he totally messed all of this up? This was why he never got involved with anybody. And then Kurt turned, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

“You coming or not?”

(~*~)

The attempt at a shooting lesson might have ended up as a minor disaster, but at least it resulted in Duncan getting an invitation to Kurt’s cabin. It wasn’t quite as minimal as Duncan’s place, several piles of books, a camera and various landscape shots that had been developed. There were no photos or mementos though that gave any hints as to Kurt’s past; who he was, what he had done. Despite the urge to poke around and see what he could find, Duncan took a seat at the wooden table and started to flip through the photos that were there, while Kurt cluttered around in the kitchen.

The photos were good. Nice composition, not blurry. They were a very good representation of the landscape around them. There were also a few shots of the local wildlife and, judging by some of them, Kurt had an awful lot of patience to sit and wait for the right moment. He said so when Kurt dumped two mugs on the table, the strange bourbon, maple syrup coffee that Kurt drank if the smell was anything to go by. It smelt disgusting but Duncan forced down a mouthful just to be polite, even as he wished for the bottle of Jamieson that he had back in his own cabin.

Kurt totally ignored the compliment and, instead, responded with a question that was so out of left-field that Duncan had to control his reaction to nothing more than a blink.

“Do you think it would be difficult to kill someone?”

Seriously, who was this guy? Why was he asking Duncan questions like this? Why was he so bloody perfect? Although he did make it hard for Duncan to give answers that wouldn’t make Kurt run away. Clearly, he just opted for sounding stupid instead.

“I don’t know.”

Seriously, what was it about Kurt Schmid that fascinated Duncan so much? There was a story there, he knew there was. Maybe it had something to do with the black bracelet that he wore around his wrist. Duncan had seen Kurt wearing it before – a brief flash as he fiddled with his sleeves – but Duncan had never seen him play with it like this before. Toying with it, running it through his fingers. Whatever the story was though, Kurt wasn’t ready to tell it. Not yet. That didn’t matter though, Duncan was happy to play the waiting game. He was good at it. He could wait as long as necessary.

~*~

He’d known that something was up the minute that he had seen her stood by the side of the road. All fur hat and coat, skin-tight clothing and top unzipped enough to show off her tits to perfection. It was the same thing that had caught his attention with Kurt originally. Young people just didn’t come to Triple Oak, especially when they looked like her. Immediately, he was on edge, waiting for something. Whoever had sent her – and he was pretty sure he knew who it was – should have done their research better. Still, she’d tried her best. If he hadn’t been the Black Kaiser, maybe she would have succeeded.

The whole ‘do you live far from here’ and ‘they can’t get here until the morning’ were the oldest tricks in the playbook. Had she honestly thought that he’d fall for them? She’d upped her game when he’d told her to take the couch. ‘You’re cute for an older guy.’ Daddy kink. Or at least a fake one. She was good, he’d give her that, but it would take more than that to convince him.

She’d been a good fuck though, he’d give her that. It had been even better when she’d turned her back and he hadn’t had to look at her fake tits, regardless of how good a job had been done on them. If he ignored the long hair, it was easier to imagine that it was Kurt he was fucking. He’d found his stamina much improved after that. The over-exaggerated moans and groans were grating after a while though.

And then the bitch had had the gall to try and kill him.

Hadn’t exactly worked in her favour. She’d clearly banked on letting herself get fucked and then blow him, at which point her colleagues would shoot him. She hadn’t banked on getting an axe in the forehead. Youngsters. Too fucking confident in their own abilities.

The rest of them had been exactly the same. Had they expected that he’d just allow himself to be taken? That he’d allowed himself to be shot and killed? If they had, then Damocles were getting sloppy with their recruitment. Even retired and without his clothes, he was better than they were. And he didn’t have heat or night vision. It had been cold as balls. He’d actually felt his retract stood in the cold before he’d killed one of them and stolen his clothes. Still, it hadn’t taken him long to get rid of them. They could be all cocky and call him old man, but he was the one left standing by the end of it. They’d even kept the motel key on them.

Not that there was anything useful when he went there. The whole place was empty, except for paperwork littering the table that implied they’d found Lomas and he couldn’t help but spare a moment of regret. He’d liked the accountant. He’d just been on his way out of the door when a spaced-out voice drifted over to him from a darkened corner.

“Alexei? Did you get the puppy?”

“What puppy?” He didn’t like the sound of this.

“The boy the old man bought a gift for.”

There was only person they could be talking about.

Kurt.

He drove so fast that it was a miracle that his wheels didn’t lock and spin in the snow. Despite all of the jobs that he had taken over the years, his heart had never raced so fast, adrenaline racing through his veins.

As he got to the now familiar space of Kurt’s house, Duncan felt sick with nerves. Taking the stairs two at a time and skidding on the porch, Duncan’s heart – which had been in his throat for the drive – sank like a stone when he saw the door standing open.

The whole interior implied that Kurt hadn’t gone without a fight. What few personal belongings there had been were strewn over the floor, furniture overturned, and mirrors and windows smashed. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught sight of the black bracelet that Kurt had worn around his wrist. The ends were frayed, as though it had been torn from his wrist and Duncan felt the anger rise in him. He slipped it into his pocket; one way or another, it would make its way back to Kurt.

For now, he had a junkie to interrogate and someone to find.

(~*~)

As Duncan stood there and looked at the now empty motel room, without a clue as to where Kurt was, he felt his eyes brim with tears for the first time in years. Maybe the first time ever.

One thing was for certain. He was going to find Kurt and the people who had taken him – and he knew that they worked for Damocles – were going to pay.

He was going to make sure of that.


	3. Chapter 3

Duncan disliked Detroit at the best of times, but he especially hated the area where the bar Porter favoured was located. It was a shit hole. Even worse, the old bastard was singing Roger Miller when Duncan walked in. Worse than that, he was only here because Kurt had been taken. Taken by Damocles because he had been seen as Duncan’s Achilles heel, his one weak spot. This was why he had never taken an interest in anybody specific and he hated the fact that it was his fault that Kurt had been taken.

He had never intended to find someone and fall, well maybe not in love, but definitely in lust. He'd planned to spend his retirement doing normal things, watching crap tv and eating too much pie. Triple Oak had seemed the perfect place to do that. Then again, he hadn't banked on meeting Kurt. Maybe it was more than lust though. He'd actually shed a tear. Who knew. What did falling in love feel like anyway? Duncan didn't think he exactly had a point of reference for that. Lust definitely. Regardless of which it was, he should probably find Kurt first and then he could figure it out.

And finding Kurt meant dealing with Porter and a dive bar in Detroit.

Duncan wouldn’t say that he and Porter were friends, more acquaintances. Yet, Duncan had a grudging respect for the older man; he was the oldest man that Duncan had ever known to survive Damocles, especially given their proclivity for killing assassins who reached the age of fifty. He also had a talent for stating the bloody obvious. Duncan didn't need to be told he was a dying man. Or that Porter was one. How he had evaded Damocles so far was a fucking miracle.

“They did try to kill ya.”

“Twice.” However, he clearly did need to remind him that both of Damocles’ attempts had been left wanting.

Of course, then the bastard started talking. Prattling on about how he'd had the worst summer of his life in Belarus. Clearly, he hadn't managed to find a woman as good to fuck as Duncan had. What he was intrigued by was how Porter had managed to avoid being done away with like Michael. If Duncan was too old, then Porter was fucking ancient. He’d never been the best, but he must have cost the company a pretty penny; how had he managed to evade being killed? The ones that Duncan had killed in Triple Oak hadn’t been that competent; dispatching Porter would have been well within their remit.

“You’re costing the company a shit load of money.” Porter wasn’t even close with his estimate, but Duncan didn’t care about that. Neither did Porter, not really.

“You trust Vivian.” Duncan gave a noncommittal shrug. No, he didn’t trust Vivian. Not as far as he could throw, which was probably a good distance given how skinny she was. Then again, she was a snake, so he’d probably struggle to get a good grip.

“You fuck her? I did.” If it was true, Porter was a braver man than Duncan in some respects; he wouldn’t fuck Vivian, even with the generous life insurance policy that came as standard when working for Damocles.

“Okay, you know where they’ll keep the boy?” Duncan, however, had priorities. He didn’t want to talk about fucking Vivian; the very thought made his balls try and crawl back inside his body.

“Your guess is as good as mine. Probably in the mansion. Plenty of rooms for all of those perverted stunts.”

“You were just too good, you know. Be careful, Duncan.”

Fucking bastard. Duncan had been so careful, not wanting to take a drink for fear that the glasses had been laced. He hadn’t expected something on his hand. Poison. And a fast acting one. This was how Porter had survived his retirement so far; doing Vivian’s dirty work for her.

Duncan snarled but it ended in a choke and him lying on the floor, frothing at the mouth. The old bastard had betrayed him. The only silver lining was that it got him inside the mansion. The downside was that it wasn't on his terms and that didn't sit right with Duncan.

~*~

**Day 1**

When Duncan came to, he was in the basement of the manor. A large open, tiled space that was designed for moments and encounters like this. Duncan had previously known of its existence but never really had any purpose to be down here. His work tended to take place off-site. He was strung up, half-naked, chains at his hands and feet with bright spotlights trained on him, designed to disorientate him. It wasn't working particularly well; it was hardly the first time that he’d been strung up like this, although he hoped it would be the last. In front of him, Blut stood covering his ridiculous clothing in protective items. In a way, Duncan was almost impressed that he was dealing with it himself; Blut tended to send his minions rather than get his hands dirty. Then again, Duncan had killed all of his favoured minions including his lover.

“You hurt me, Mr Vizla. And that cannot be repaid with a swift, impersonal death.”

Duncan watched as Blut placed a case with tools in it onto the medical tray before he proceeded to talk about William Wallace. In truth, Duncan blocked most of it out. Why should he be interested in some Scottish revolutionary that had been tortured and killed by the English? What relevance did it have for him? Blut kept wittering on, clearly loving the sound of his own voice. Something about cock and balls and intestines but it was nothing more than white noise to Duncan.

And then came the thing that caught his attention, and which pained Duncan far more than the prospect of torture ever could. Blut held up photos of Kurt. And not just any photos. Photos of Kurt looking out of it, maybe even strung out. Photos that showed Kurt with cuts and bruises that proved just how hard he had fought. One of him with Blut pulling his head back with the vague grasp he could get on Kurt’s shorn locks.

Duncan was wracked with feelings of guilt and self-loathing, neither of them things that he was accustomed to feeling.

This was all Duncan’s fault. If it weren’t for Duncan, then Kurt would be enjoying the quiet life in Triple Oak, not being captured and held prisoner.

The feeling of something stabbing through his chest brought him out of his self-flagellation and Duncan looked down to see the final photo impaled in his chest with a blade. The pain was neither here nor there; Duncan was plenty accustomed to working through pain, yet he couldn’t help but think that it would have been more apt if Blut had stabbed the photo through the opposite side of his chest.

Through his heart.

“Four days before I have to kill you. Four days of hell. And on your birthday, you die.”

Blut. King of Melodrama. Duncan was almost tempted to roll his eyes. This was why he dealt with Vivian.

“I’m going to have a little fun with your boy. And you’re going to watch.”

Inside, Duncan was raging but he wasn't going to give Blut the satisfaction and show it. No. Instead, he forced himself to remain impassive and watched as his former boss selected a pair of small snub-nosed pliers.

“I’ve given it a little thought. And I’ve decided we’re going to start with these. Music please.”

The music was almost worse than the pain. Blut was being very canny and choosing the areas to rip out small chunks of flesh carefully; he was selecting sensitive areas, places where his sweat would run and irritate the wounds. He didn't know how long Blut was at it for but, eventually, it came to an end.

“The fun continues tomorrow, Mr Vizla.”

 (~*~)

**Day 2**

What Blut considered fun, Duncan just considered tedious. He was even more surprised that Blut hadn't decided that it was all too tedious and sent someone to do his dirty work for him. But no, Blut seemed determined to torture Duncan as much as possible himself. Partially with how uninspired the whole thing was. It was just more of the same. Honestly, did the man have no imagination? Duncan had met beginner assassins with more ideas than this. He thought of how he'd utilised the nail gun in Belarus to great effect … there were so many options that Blut could go for, but no. Duncan was almost tempted to offer him lessons. ‘How to torture your hostage 101’. He could teach another class at the school. Maybe he could even shock the teacher this time.

Of course, thoughts of the school brought his thoughts to Kurt and that allowed him to ignore what was being done with his body. And then Blut decided to deviate from what he had been doing, using a second set of pliers to remove several of Duncan’s teeth. It was never pleasant, but it had happened a few times before, so the pain wasn’t exactly an unknown.

About three teeth in, unsurprisingly, Blut got bored.

“The fun continues tomorrow, Mr Vizla.”

And Duncan was, once again, left with his own thoughts.

 (~*~)

**Day 3**

Day three was just even more of the same, only Duncan was getting seriously tired of this shit by now. He was thirsty, hungry, starting to feel weak from blood loss, gasping for a cigarette and he never wanted to hear bagpipes ever again. He didn’t understand why Blut was continuing with this so doggedly. What was he getting out of this, other than the pleasure of getting one over on Duncan and saving eight million dollars? Duncan didn’t even give a fuck about the money. He should just get it over with and put them both out of their misery. But no, Blut seemed to be perfectly happy slashing away with his blades and leaving a myriad of bleeding cuts over Duncan’s torso.

At some point during the day - he wasn’t entirely sure when, as time was harder to gauge down in the basement - one of Blut’s minions came in and whispered something in Blut’s ear. Whatever it was that he said enraged Blut, as his swinging and gouging at Duncan’s torso became even wilder, more frenzied. And then he started talking as he worked. Muttering about how Duncan’s boy had gone. Wanting to know how they had planned it. Angry because Kurt had killed several of Blut's guards.

Duncan latched onto the words with everything he had and bared his teeth in a smile that was more like a grimace. Hope swelled in his chest, even as Blut continued to hack at him. Kurt was free. He had managed to escape. And Duncan knew that he had escaped; Blut would not be this angry if Kurt had died. Although, it did beg the question as to how Kurt _had_ escaped. All of those previous suspicions as to Kurt’s previous career coming to the fore. Then again, Duncan supposed that it merely proved that he had been right and that there was something very special about Kurt Schmidt.

And then one particularly deep, violent stab pulled Duncan from his thoughts as he felt something lodge and break inside him, something that sent Blut’s anger spiralling further.

“You broke my favourite knife. I said you broke my fav … Hello, hello? I’m obviously not getting through to you, am I?”

The pain was searing. The worst that Duncan had ever experienced, and he couldn’t help but yell in pain. Blut had driven what remained of his apparently favourite blade through Duncan’s left eye, passing straight through the eyeball and into the socket. He should have expected it, or something like it; Blut was unpredictable enough when he was calm, angry he was ten times worse. It was all that Duncan could do to keep his reaction to a minimum; he wasn’t going to give Blut the satisfaction.

“The fun continues tomorrow, Mr Vizla.”

It wouldn’t. Duncan was certain of that. Come hell or high water, he wouldn’t be here tomorrow. Not if Kurt was no longer here. He didn’t know how much truth there was to Blut’s statement - he could be lying through his teeth for all Duncan knew - but he wasn’t going to continue to be strung up here and simply take it. He needed to find Kurt. That was his number one priority. 

It just so happened that Blut had made his job just that little bit easier.

Honestly, how the man was in charge of Damocles was ridiculous. Well, Duncan supposed that Vivian was the real brains behind the operation - she wouldn’t have underestimated him - but Blut was simply too arrogant and it had worked in Duncan’s favour. Duncan wasn’t the Black Kaiser for nothing. Damocles had tried to kill him twice and they had failed both times. They weren’t about to succeed using torture. Despite everything, his lips quirked up as he imagined Blut’s reaction to discovering that he had handed Duncan his method of escape himself.

Fishing around inside his own chest cavity for the portion of the blade that had broken off inside him would have been hard on a good day. After three days of being strung up and tortured, weaker than normal from blood loss not to mention a lack of food and water, it was nigh on impossible. It would have been totally impossible for a lesser being. For Duncan, it was merely a pain in the ass and one that he could have done without. He grunted in pain as he delved around, the whole thing being made trickier by the slick of his blood on his hands. Finally, he had it within his grasp. From there, it was easy. Merely a matter of minutes to unlock his cuffs.

Then, all he had to do was wait.

 ~*~

Day four. Duncan’s birthday. The supposed day of his death.

The minions who had been assigned the job of keeping an eye on him - he wouldn't call it looking after by any stretch of the imagination - had made one crucial error in their duty; they had kept to a routine. Either they didn't know who Duncan was or Blut was simply scraping the bottom of the barrel for employees. Personally, Duncan was inclined to assume the latter. Anyone truly worth their salt working for Damocles would have known that you don't keep to a schedule, especially when dealing with a trained assassin such as Duncan. They immediately latched onto things like that and it made it easy for him to plan. To prepare.

He was ready and waiting when the first of them came to string him up ready for Blut. They didn't stand a chance. Weakened as he was, he was still the Black Kaiser and they remembered that as he snapped bones and necks, letting them drop to the floor like stones, lifeless.

Not even the arrival of Blut with his ridiculously sized personal guard fazed him.

They were easily dealt with.

He didn’t know how Blut picked them, but the screening was hardly rigorous. He may have been out of breath, but Duncan could kill them without looking. Their screams and the crunch of their bones were like music to his ears. Just to add to the atmosphere, Duncan set the bagpipes playing, using it as cover as he despatched them one by one while Blut attempted to escape. In the dark, they couldn’t even see him coming. As he descended into the tunnels, Duncan could hear Blut trotting down the corridor like the little pig that he was, but he let him go. There would be time enough to get him and make him pay. Finding Kurt was the priority. 

And if carnage ensued in the process? Duncan grabbed a handy guard to use as a human shield before using the man's him to kill the shooter. Well, that just made things more interesting, didn't it?


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think it's probably worth mentioning here that I have fiddled with things here in terms of timelines. So, suspend your disbelief and just imagine that the events of Polar take place a couple of years after the end of Black Hawk Down

The final stretch of the tunnel – a mere one hundred metres or so – was the hardest. The adrenaline was no longer pumping through his veins and he could feel the energy draining away with every passing second. His limbs felt like lead and it was nothing more than sheer willpower and the thought of Kurt that kept him moving.

Even so, the last thing Duncan expected to see when he made it out of the tunnel, hobbling and bleeding all over was for Kurt to materialise out of the pre-dawn light. For long seconds, he wondered if he was seeing things with his one remaining eye, or if blood loss was causing him to hallucinate. And then Kurt’s arm slid around him, shouldering his weight and Duncan knew that he wasn’t imagining things.

Kurt was alive.

And if he had managed to escape Blut’s clutches by himself, then he was so much more than Duncan had envisaged. He could see no signs of blood, but then neither did the younger man look well; he looked drawn and clammy, as though he was coming down from something. There was a cut at the corner of his mouth and that flawless skin was marred with purple and yellowish bruises. He was alive though, and Duncan would take that. Alive was better than dead.

“Blut?”

“The little fat man in a god-awful suit? He came out of the tunnel not long before you. He looked terrified. He can wait; you’re the priority. 

They’d barely gone fifty metres before Duncan’s curiosity got the better of him. He had known some of the best assassins alive who hadn’t survived Damocles. How had a civilian managed to not only survive, but to escape?

“When you said you were in the funeral business of sorts…”

Kurt’s lips did some sort of strange twist before he answered. “Special ops forces medic. I was a Delta.”

Delta Force. One of the world’s most elite military units.

Those four words had simultaneously answered so many questions while creating even more. Duncan opened his mouth to ask some of those questions but was hushed.

“Later. I promise, I’ll answer all of your questions later. First, I need to make sure you’re okay.”

“I know a place.”

“Of course, you do. Is it safe? Can I access any medical supplies I might need?”

Duncan grunted his assent to both questions, starting to feel a little cold as shock started to set in.

“Okay, good. That makes things easier. Where is it?”

Duncan rattled off the address to Jazmin’s and, for once, trusted in someone else to take care of him. Trusted in the strength of Kurt next to him, the knowledge that, despite all appearances, the boy – man – was far from helpless. That Duncan was safe with him.

And then he wasn’t really aware of anything else. 

(~*~)

The next time that he came to, it was to the sound of heated words between Kurt and Jazmin. It took Duncan several minutes to focus enough to determine the cause of the debate. It didn’t take him long to realise that he was sufficiently battered that Jazmin didn’t recognise him and that she was suspicious of Kurt’s presence. That didn’t entirely surprise him, and he admonished himself for not thinking of it. His voice was little more than a rasp when he managed to speak, but it was recognisable enough.

“Jazmin, it’s me. I told Kurt to bring us here.”

Jazmin relaxed slightly but still looked suspicious of Kurt. Duncan resisted the urge to sigh; old lover and hopefully new lover, never a good combination. “Jaz, he’s here with me. It’s either both of us or neither of us.”

She clearly wasn’t happy but relented, opening the door and moving out of the way. Kurt, on the other hand, either hadn’t noticed the tension in the atmosphere or he clearly just didn’t give a fuck. He took control of the situation without hesitation, guiding Duncan to sit down on the bed, while barking demands for various items over his shoulder. Jazmin looked decidedly mutinous, but she was doing as requested and so Duncan decided not to intervene; he didn’t really have the strength anyway.

And then Kurt was leaning over him like some goddamn angel, careful hands easing Duncan out of the clothes that he had stolen from Blut’s minions and coaxing him to lay back.

 ~*~

Given everything that had happened in the last four days, it was hardly surprising that the nightmares were bad enough to wake Duncan from his drug-induced rest. It wasn't memories of the torture that he had undergone but the most recurring nightmare; one about a botched assassination years ago. He still paid 200 grand a year into a charity because of that one; he might be an assassin but that didn't mean that he was totally devoid of feelings.

Opening his eyes, he saw the side table covered in used syringes, discarded wrappings and a glass with a couple of fingers of whiskey. Swinging his feet around to the floor, he sat up with no little difficulty, his ribs protesting every single movement that he made. He was quite happy, pleased even, with how it was going and then he tried to stand up, got light-headed and ended up pitching into the side table and smacking his head. All a bit embarrassing really.

And then there were hands under his biceps, hauling him half to his feet and then depositing him on the bed. Jazmin. He plucked somewhat half-heartedly at the bandages that covered his torso and couldn't quite resist the urge to go for the bandage covering his eye, even if it did earn him an exasperated smack.

“You’re not going anywhere soon with all that shit in your system. This should help. Just lie down.”

“Where's Kurt?” Duncan batted away the syringe, not wanting to fog his brain. He couldn't see any signs of the man but then again everywhere seemed to be in its usual state of controlled chaos, no blood anywhere so hopefully they hadn't killed each other.

“He went out,” was Jazmin's curt response.

“I'm back now. What's going on?” Duncan craned his neck to see Kurt stood in the shadows, just inside the door.

“He tried to get up. Fell over and hit his head on the table.”

Jazmin's words had Kurt by the bed in seconds, pushing her not too gently out of the way as he checked Duncan's pulse and how dilated his eyes were, looking for signs of concussion.

“You need to stay in bed.”

“Give me an incentive to stay in bed then.” Duncan was both impressed and frustrated with himself; how was it that he actually managed to flirt successfully when he was laid up in bed with no way of doing anything about it. And then, of course, he had an internal panic about flirting in case Kurt wasn’t interested.

Thankfully, that didn’t seem to be the case. Kurt gave a little chuckle and a coy look from under his eyelashes.

“I don't think you're well enough for what either of us would prefer, but there’ll be time enough for that in the future. How about we settle for me answering your questions? I think it's time we're honest with each other, don't you?”

Duncan was mollified enough by the thought of the future that he allowed himself to be propped up against the headboard, although he baulked at being handed two small white pills. “I'm not taking anything. I don't like not having control over myself.”

“I understand that, but you need to trust me. They're just Tylenol, over the counter stuff. It's not morphine. You'll stay in complete control, but this will just take the edge off.”

Duncan wasn't totally happy, but he did understand what Kurt was saying. He dry-swallowed the pills and followed them up by knocking back the glass of whisky. “Well?”

Kurt made himself comfy on the other side of the bed, not pressed close enough to touch but close enough that Duncan could sense him. “Ask away. What do you want to know?”

“You were a Delta?”

“Sergeant First Class Kurt Schmid, at your service.” Kurt gave a mock bow from his seated position. “I was an army brat my whole life, swore I would never serve and then I signed on the dotted line straight out of high school. I went into special ops, elected to become a medic and did some of my training in a San Diego ED. And then I was out on tours.”

Duncan kept silent, knowing that Kurt just had to talk this through.

“Most of the tours I did were run of the mill. I'd done some surgical training in San Diego, but for the most part, it wasn't really needed. Grazes, scratches and the odd bullet wound, that was it. And then there was Operation Gothic Serpent. I don't know if you heard of it?” Kurt barely gave Duncan the chance to respond before he continued talking.

“We were in Somalia to capture the warlord Mohamed Farah Aidid. It wasn't going well. We captured the men that we went into Mogadishu to get - two of his top guys - but the rest of it went to hell in a handbasket. We were cocky. Thought we would be in and out, but nothing could be further from the truth.”

Kurt got off the bed, only to return with a bottle of bourbon that he took a healthy slug of before offering the bottle to Duncan.

“We were supposed to be in and out in a couple of hours, no casualties. We were in that city overnight and lost 19 US soldiers and several Black Hawks. We didn't have night vision, enough water. Hell, some of the guys had taken the armoured plates out of their vests. One of the men we lost was Corporal Jamie Smith. You could say that Jamie's the reason I'm in Triple Oak. He's certainly the reason I left Delta. See, I'm the reason Jamie's dead.”

Duncan doubted that that was truly the case but, equally, he knew how easy it was to apportion guilt to yourself. Hell, his nightmares were proof enough of that.

“Jamie was a Ranger. He was just a kid, barely twenty-one. He got through most of the night unscathed, but then they were defending the crash site of Super 61 and he got shot. Straight through the femoral artery. I worked on him through the rest of the night, tried to find and clamp the artery but there was nothing I could do. I thought I had it two, three times but it kept slipping through my fingers, retracting up into his groin. I couldn’t even give him morphine to dull the pain because it would lower his heart rate too much.”

Kurt took another generous slug of bourbon. “I spent the entire night covered in Jamie’s blood. He died before the medevac arrived because we were too fucking arrogant. I did another two tours after Operation Gothic Serpent, but I couldn’t stop thinking about it. About Jamie. Couldn’t stop wondering if I could have done more. What if I’d tried a blood transfusion? What if the medevac had managed to reach us earlier? The tours I did after that were uneventful, but I couldn’t cope. I left. I spent a couple of years in Japan, wondering about what could have been. I wasn’t the only one who left. Quite a few of us who survived wore black wristbands, in memory of those who died.”

With clumsy fingers, Duncan fumbled in his pocket before he produced the broken band. “I found it, in your cabin.”

“Thank you. You don’t know what it means to me.” Kurt paused to replace the bracelet before he gave a reticent smile. “And there you have it. The whole sorry story. I left Japan and ended up in Triple Oak, just looking for a quiet life. And what about you? Because the funeral business job is a lie.”

“I’m an assassin. The world’s best assassin. I’m known as the Black Kaiser and I’m sorry to say that you were taken because of me.”

“So, the guys who took me…”

“Were Damocles. My former employers.”

“Were you that bad they felt you had to die?”

The almost perverse nature of the comment made something in Duncan’s chest loosen and he knocked his shoulder against Kurt’s. “Quite the contrary. I earned too much money and, once I retired, they objected to paying me my pension; they decided to kill me instead.”

“Must be quite the pension. Better than the army pays out. 

Duncan merely grunted. Discussing his pension was the last thing he wanted to do. Thankfully, Kurt seemed equally uninterested.

“I have one more question for you. If they wanted to kill you over your pension, why did they take me?”

Ah fuck, no. Talking about his pension was better than talking about his emotions. However, he hadn't endured Blut's torture to be a coward. He was going to have to be honest, irrespective of how much he disliked talking.

“They took you because they knew that you mean something to me. That I care for you. They planned to use you as leverage to get me to do what they wanted. If you hadn't escaped, they would have kept hurting you, hurting me in turn. They underestimated you.”

“A little.” Kurt's fingers brushed over the synthetic skin that covered some of the smaller wounds on Duncan's hands. “I would have been able to do more damage if they hadn't pumped me full of heroin. I've had some resistance training for drugs but, even so. They made it easier by having only a couple of guards.”

Kurt paused and took a deep breath before he spoke. “I care for you too. I definitely find you attractive and interesting. I’m just, not particularly experienced at all of this. DADT, you know. There wasn’t really much opportunity when I was a Delta and I never expected to meet someone in Triple Oak, of all places.”

“I’m just as inexperienced. One-night stands, yes. Anything more than that? Out of my realm of expertise.” Duncan decided to take a chance and flipped his hand, entangling his fingers with Kurt’s and was rewarded when Kurt simply tightened his grip.

“When … when this is all over, I’d be interested in seeing what could come of this. Of us.”

“That…” Duncan cleared his throat and tried again, “that sounds good.”

It might be out of both their comfort zones but maybe they could fumble through this together. 

~*~

Duncan meandered over to the section of Jazmin’s space that had been designated as her workshop. He knew that despite Kurt keeping up an air of nonchalance, supposedly reading a book that he had found on one of the shelves, he was in fact watching every move Duncan made. It was almost heart-warming.

They had had a long, very frank conversation that morning about what Duncan intended to do; namely wipe out Blut and what remained of Damocles. Kurt had been insistent that, while he understood why Duncan was doing it - why he _needed_ to do it - Kurt couldn't be part of it, couldn't help him. Duncan had seen how he had startled so badly at hearing the loud noise in the diner, how he'd been unable to hold the pistol Duncan bought him without shaking, let alone fire it. No, Kurt wouldn't go with him, but he would be waiting for him when it was over. Duncan wouldn't lie and say that he wasn't disappointed, but he respected Kurt's decision.

“Okay, Duncan. How can I help you? What do you need?”

“An army.” The words were said with his usual dark humour but there was truth behind them. He did need an army. Or Kurt, but that wasn't an option.

“Okay, here we go. You’ll need all of it. It’s like a full package.”

Duncan listened in interest as Jazmin gave the details of her creations. Most of them were fairly standard with a few tweaks and bits of interest. And then she pulled out the gloves that shot lasers. He liked those. He really liked those. Those were fun. Those would come in useful.

 (~*~)

The morning that was going to his final reckoning with Damocles, Duncan woke to find Kurt wrapped around him like a limpet. He wasn’t entirely sure where Jazmin had been sleeping, but he and Kurt had been sharing the bed and, every morning, he had woken to find that they had gravitated towards each other in the night. This was the first time that they had woken like this, however.

It was a novelty that he didn’t want to remain as such. He wanted to wake like this every morning. He wanted to wake with _Kurt_ like this every morning. Dr Becker had spoken about men spending their retirement fucking women young enough to be their daughters. He hadn’t said anything about men young enough to be their sons and Kurt wasn’t quite that young but, well, that was just details.

“Mornin’.” Kurt’s voice was hazy and rough with sleep and the way that he nuzzled sleepily into Duncan’s chest, fingers tangling into the greying thatch of hair there, elicited feelings that Duncan hadn’t felt before. “’m not going to ask you not to do this. All I’m going to ask is that you try and stay alive. For me.”

Duncan had to swallow several times before he could speak. “That I can promise.”

It had taken everything that Duncan had to pull himself from bed, from the warmth of Kurt’s embrace. He had dressed himself in his usual wardrobe; black trousers, black turtleneck, black coat, black combat boots and secreted a number of knives around his body. He had just finished lacing up the latter when he heard Kurt approach him, holding something in his hands.

“You can’t go out there with bandages on your face, and that eye isn’t healed enough to be out in the open. So, I made you this.”

‘This’ was a simple black eye-patch, but it was clearly apparent that Kurt had made it himself. When Duncan expressed his surprise, Kurt’s response was calm.

“These hands can stitch body parts back together – have done - an eye patch was hardly problematic. Here.”

Duncan held still while Kurt removed the bandages, fitting the eye patch in their place, adjusting the fit and making sure that the strap wasn’t digging in anywhere. Once he was done, Kurt’s touch lingered, fingers running over Duncan’s face, assessing him. And then Kurt was leaning in, his hands cupping Duncan’s face as he bestowed a kiss upon his lips. It was chaste but it lingered and, even when they broke apart, they stayed close. Sharing the same air, with Kurt cupping Duncan’s face and Duncan’s hands on Kurt’s hips, keeping him near. Kurt leaned in for one more peck before he pulled back.

“I can’t come with you, but I’ll be waiting for you at the cabin in Triple Oak when you’re done.”

Duncan nodded, resting his forehead against Kurt’s and revelling in the closeness. He was still disappointed, but this was enough. It would have to be. He took one final deep breath and committed everything to memory, just in case things went wrong. And then he forced himself to move away and pick up the final remaining bags, moving outside to where Jazmin was loading the truck.

“I always knew you’d come back. I just hoped it would be for me. Not the guns.”

This was what Duncan had known was inevitable, what he had dreaded. How the hell was he supposed to respond to that? At a loss for words, he opted for what he hoped was a sympathetic look as he got into the truck. He cast one final look over his shoulder to where Kurt hovered in the door. As their eyes met, Kurt set his jaw and gave a firm nod before turning away. They would see each other once more in Triple Oak, or not at all. Turning the key in the ignition, Duncan set his mind to the task ahead.

It was time to end this.

 ~*~

As soon as he was in the warehouse and set up, everything as he wanted it, Duncan phoned Vivian. It didn’t surprise him when she answered with her usual response. This time, he didn’t care about how long he was on the line. He needed her to know where he was.

“Speak. What’s the deal?”

She was stressed. She had to be. There was no doubt that Blut was riding her hard for her perceived mistakes. He also had no doubt that Vivian would have persuaded Blut to take whatever was left of his men. Jazmin’s arsenal had better do its job.

“Central train station. 9am tomorrow morning.” He knew that she was tracking him at this very minute, that any encounter they had would be done and dusted by 9am the following morning. Hell, it would be done and dusted in the next hour.

“Why the fuck are you doing this?”

He was hardly going to confess to Vivian why he was doing this. Besides, she wasn’t stupid. She had to know already. “I don’t know. Why are you doing this?”

“Please. This is our fucking job. Remember? You used to have one and be good at it. It’s a bit too late to regret your choices. To think you’ve been hiding out just around the corner. A little amateur for you, Duncan. Happy to see me?”

The cavalcade roared into the warehouse and once it pulled to a halt, Vivian stepped out of her car, looking impeccable as always and surrounded by the remains of Blut’s army, all of them armed to the teeth. Pity they had no idea what awaited them. “Not really?”

“I like the eye patch. Very menacing.”

“And you look extraordinary as always.” She did. Regardless of the situation, Vivian was always impeccably dressed. Bright red against the pure black of Blut’s men. Duncan lit his cigarette and took a deep drag.

“I thought you stopped smoking?”

Duncan gave a nonchalant shrug. “Yeah. Figured it wouldn’t kill me. Was I on the phone too long?” He knew precisely how long he had been on the line and it was exactly as he had expected.

“Forty-seven seconds.”

“Guess we do get rusty when we turn fifty.” Duncan didn’t bother to say that, even rusty, he was better than every single man – and woman – in the room. He didn’t have to. They were all here because they had to be, because they didn’t have to balls to leave and save themselves.

“I know they pay you well for this Vivian, but I’m going to give you a chance to walk out of this alive. For old time’s sake.”

“You’ve become sentimental.”

That wasn’t exactly the case, but Duncan had no intention of arguing with her. What was the point? Arguing with Vivian never ended well, she was too convinced of her own greatness.

“What is the point of this, Duncan? You have nothing to trade with. You’re at a dead end. The road that you have chosen doesn’t have a rainbow at the end.”

“No, no rainbows.” There may not be any rainbows at the end of Duncan’s road, but there was Kurt. And that was infinitely better than any rainbow, pot of gold or mythical creature. Duncan just had to stay alive long enough that he made it to the end of the road.

“You grew soft Duncan, your bad.”

Well, that was debatable. Duncan didn’t think that myriad of corpses that he had left littering the mansion showed that he had gone soft. Still, if that was what they wanted to believe then that was fine by him. As they brought their guns up, ready to fire, Duncan flexed his fingers and activated the laser guns.

Once more, it was carnage.

Jazmin’s creations worked as well as they always had done. The foot soldiers of Damocles didn’t stand a chance. One by one they hit the floor until the only person left gasping for breath was Vivian. Stepping over her outstretched legs, Duncan looked into the camera that he knew would be there somewhere.

He didn’t say anything. He didn’t have to. Blut knew he was coming. 

~*~

The guards at the mansion at least had a sense of self-preservation. They all got out of the way the second that they saw Duncan coming. Some of them even apologised as they stood to one side as he headed for Blut’s office. He may have been merciful enough to leave Vivian alive – although she may not stay that way - but he had no such compunction with Blut. He even used the man’s own beloved Samurai to behead him. Duncan didn’t even give Blut the opportunity to plead for his life, simply severing his head from his body and sending the decapitated head through the window and out into the grounds.

His goal achieved, Duncan didn't hang around. He returned to his car and set a course for Montana.

For the first time ever, he had someone - something - to go home to.


	5. Chapter 5

Duncan tried to be as quiet as he possibly could as he pulled the truck up to a stop outside the cabin. Kurt’s truck might be an old beast, but it was still quieter than Duncan’s monstrosity of a car and he was hoping that he hadn’t woken Kurt up with the noise. The younger man had been sleeping when Duncan had crept out of bed to fetch breakfast, although he had stirred fractionally at the loss of Duncan's warmth, and Duncan hoped that he was still asleep. He wasn't arrogant enough to assume that Kurt's extended sleep was solely due to him being well-fucked the night before, but he liked to think that it had contributed at least a little bit.

It had been nearly a month since they had both been captured by Damocles, since Duncan had decimated the organisation in retaliation. He had returned to Triple Oak to find Kurt waiting for him at his cabin just as he had promised, and they hadn't been parted for more than a few hours since.

The longest time had been that first night. 

_***FLASHBACK***_

Duncan had lingered for as long as possible. Kurt had insisted on checking all of Duncan’s injuries, satisfying himself that Duncan hadn’t done himself any further damage in his showdown with both Vivian and Blut before finally, Duncan had felt as though he had to take his leave and said goodnight. His feet had felt like lead as he walked to his car and it had taken an age for him to actually turn the key in the ignition to make the short drive around the lake.

The first thing that struck him as he opened the door to his cabin was the smell. Dead bodies didn’t smell great when they’d been left for four days although, thanks to the cold, the odour wasn’t as bad as it could have been. He didn’t think too much about the two that he had killed out in the woods; the local wildlife would have got to the bodies by now. In the meantime, there were still two dead women in his cabin. It didn't take much effort to sling them over his shoulders and carry them into the woods. Once out there, he dug a shallow grave before dumping them in it and covering it up with earth; wolves and coyotes would find them before anybody else.

Cleaning the blood off the floor was a pain in the ass, one that Duncan had never experienced before. Bodies and blood were always someone else's problem; he just created the problem. The blood had soaked into the floorboards and no amount of scrubbing would get rid of it completely, although at least the scent of chemicals permeating the air overpowered the smell of blood. He had just given up and poured himself a glass of whisky when there was a knock on the door. There hadn’t been any noises that would signify a vehicle pulling up but, even so, Duncan grabbed a handgun as he moved towards the door. There was no peephole - a serious construction flaw that he should probably rectify - so he pulled it open just a crack before pulling it wide open when he saw Kurt stood there, shivering slightly.

There was no sign of his truck in Duncan’s drive and, from the looks of things, Kurt had already been in bed when he decided to make the trek round the lake. He was in sweatpants tucked sloppily into his boots, a thin t-shirt that it looked like he had sweated through already with his coat thrown over the top and his beanie jammed over his head. He looked vaguely embarrassed as he toed at the floor, muttering about not being able to sleep, being used to having Duncan next to him in the bed. Duncan hadn’t said anything, simply stepped back and let him in, but the truth was that he had had the same fears. He had grown used to the warmth of Kurt wrapped around him as though Duncan were his favourite teddy bear and hadn’t wanted to try sleeping without it. He needed the reassurance that Kurt was alive, well and with Duncan.

The glass of whisky that Duncan had started went undrunk as they both undressed in silence, slipping under the sheets of Duncan’s bed. In an ideal world, they wouldn’t be the same sheets as when he had fucked the girl with the fake tits, but he hadn’t banked on this, and at least the chemicals hid the musty scent of sex. He’d have to buy a second set of sheets if this was going to happen on a regular basis.

It had been easy from there. They had fallen asleep with Kurt wrapped around Duncan, one hand tangled in whorls of chest hair, and had woken up the same way after what had been the best night's sleep in a long time. Duncan didn’t want it to end. He wanted to fall asleep this way every night and wake the same way for as long as he possibly could. Judging by his reluctance to move when he woke the following morning, Kurt was the same.

  _***END FLASHBACK***_

They hadn’t spent a night apart since.

Given that Kurt had the nicer cabin with the large wraparound porch, Duncan had moved in there. One advantage that it had was that there weren’t any bloodstains on the floorboards. The other one was that Kurt was there. They had repaired all of the damage done by the Damocles agents and Duncan had moved in with his limited wardrobe, small cache of weapons, bottle of whisky, his tv and his fish bowl. The fish themselves hadn’t survived his time away, but they had been easily replaced. Kurt was making noises about getting a dog and Duncan hadn’t demurred; maybe with Kurt there, Rusty the Second might stand a better chance of survival.

This was more like the type of retirement that his doctor had envisaged for him than the first few weeks had been.

Most of their time was spent inside, reading, watching videos and talking. Or in bed. They spent a lot of time in bed. They'd have to find other hobbies eventually. There was probably a limit to the amount of time you could spend having sex, sitting around and eating pie, but Duncan was more than happy to test that theory. He’d already proved that one of his earliest observations – that Kurt’s ears were perfect for directing his mouth on Duncan’s cock – was right, after all. Still, considering that neither of them had done this before – the relationship thing – they were managing to not fuck it up too badly. The beauty of not having any expectations was that they could set their own rules and do whatever worked for them.

Letting himself in through the door as quietly as he could while juggling the boxes of food and the keys, Duncan toed off his boots and padded to the door of the bedroom. As he had hoped, Kurt was still asleep and Duncan stared, more than a little enraptured. In the time that Duncan had been out, Kurt had appropriated his space – well, the entire bed – and was sprawled over the sheets wrapped around Duncan’s pillow in lieu of his chest. Not for the first time, Duncan couldn’t help but marvel at his luck. Not only had he survived the first few weeks of his retirement, despite Damocles’ best efforts, but he had ended up with Kurt in his life and his bed.

Duncan wasn’t going to lie. He still wasn’t entirely sure why Kurt was with him. Duncan was fifty with hair and beard that resembled a badger, the beginnings of a paunch despite his still powerful body and one eye. It wasn’t exactly an enticing venture for a lover. Especially when said lover was fifteen years younger with both intelligence and beauty. Duncan appreciated both but, at this point in time, he especially appreciated the latter considering the view that he had of Kurt’s ass, the legs that seemed to go on for days with thighs that felt as though they were made of steel when they wrapped around Duncan’s hips. As if Kurt had guessed the trajectory of Duncan's thoughts, he stirred in bed and rolled over, partially hiding that glorious ass from Duncan's view as he sat up.

“Can I smell bacon?”

Duncan didn't respond, mesmerised once more by the sight of his fingerprints imprinted on Kurt's hips in shades of purple-blue.

“Duncan?”

“Oh yes, I went to the diner and got breakfast.”

That had been a big step. Up until now, Duncan had made Kurt do anything that involved being seen in public in Triple Oak. Duncan had been conspicuous enough to begin with – from his monochrome wardrobe to his general demeanour – never mind when he was wearing an eyepatch.  He had been enough of a novelty in Triple Oak that he had been talked about before and he didn’t want to give them any more fodder for gossip. Yet, Duncan didn’t intend to be a coward and hide away for ever. He wanted to resume life with Kurt as they had before, including their coffee and pie dates at the diner.

So, he had started small. Namely by getting them breakfast.

It hadn’t been as bad as he had expected. Yes, there had been curious stares and whispers, but nobody had asked questions and those in the diner – although they had stared a little – had treated him no differently to normal, much to his relief. Still, he hadn’t hung around. He had gone in, ordered and collected their breakfast and left. It was progress though.

“Bacon and pancakes?”

“Of course.”

“Then why are you stood over there? Come back to bed and bring breakfast with you. Oh, and lose the clothes as well.”

Duncan did as he was ordered. What else could he do? He liked that Kurt was confident enough to give him orders. He liked that Kurt wasn’t afraid of him, even knowing his history, what he had done and what he could do. He couldn’t remember ever doing anything this playful before – playful was not one of his usual moods - but there was a first time for everything. And if breakfast ended up in him tumbling Kurt back into the sheets? Knocking the empty takeout containers to the floor as he groped for lube and a condom. Of long limbs twining around him and encasing him, not letting him move too much. Of kisses sweet with maple syrup. Well, all the better.

Duncan still wasn’t sure if it was lust or love, but he had the feeling that it was closer to the latter. That was, in many ways, more terrifying than some of the situations that he had found himself in over the years. Neither of them had had the best life, whether by their own choices or by the circumstances that had been dealt them, and had kept themselves aloof from others, but now they had a chance for a thawing. In themselves. In the way that they were viewed by other people. In the way that they viewed the world.

A chance for something more.

Together.


End file.
